


my mom wanted a daughter

by aggrieved



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: AND BITCH I LOVE GEORGIE, Alive Georgie Denbrough, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst, BC I WANT MY SON TO BE SOMEWHAT OKAY, BC THERES NO PEENYWEENY, Background Relationships, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Coming Out, Drunken Confessions, Good Parents Maggie & Wentworth Tozier, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Ratings subject to change, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Slow Burn, So much angst, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, Underage Drinking, also, and you kn OW theyre still gonna be there even tho the losers are like 3 or 4 years older, author is trans so he knows what he’s talking about don’t come for me, background beddie, background benverly, background stike, bc come on, bc theyre deadbeats, bc those are my ride or dies ok, but that also means, but they’re Very background, its IT, loser's club are older, so's omc, the uglee bowers gang lives, theres gonna be so much shit in this fic smh, theyre all seniors in high school, this is a very richie/omc centric fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 08:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15926483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aggrieved/pseuds/aggrieved
Summary: “My name isnotValerie,” he slurs aggressively.“What— What does that mean?”Tyler starts to cry. “My name. Is not. Valerie,” he repeats. “My name isTyler. I’m aboy.”





	my mom wanted a daughter

The wheel of a moving trailer catches on a pothole, and something inside thumps loudly. The trees pass in a green-orange-brown blur, early fall creeping up on the town of Derry, Maine like a spider in a shower. The sight of a moving trailer, and a similar moving van behind it, is an uncommon sight to the occupants of the small town; who on God’s Earth would move to _Derry_?

Lithe fingers pick at a loose, gray thread. They tug and tug until it comes loose, the stitching coming undone bit by bit. A hand with pink, chipped nails slaps the fingers away.

“Stop that, you’ll ruin it,” a tired voice scolds.

Brown, empty eyes stare at the road ahead. She’s so exhausted, her eyelids weighed down by the 21 hour drive from Lone Oak, Georgia. She doesn’t have the patience to be a single mother, yet here she is, alone. Her father drives the moving truck behind them— he’d insisted on moving in with them, no matter how much she told them that _we’ll be fine, Valerie is a senior now, she won’t even need me_.

If Felicity Patterson is one thing, it’s stubborn.

As much as she argued, though, her father is her best friend, and there was no _way_ he wasn’t coming with on their move. A friend of hers from college had offered to help her start up her business— _book stores aren’t businesses, sweetheart. You’re too much like your father,_ her mother had scolded— but she lived in Maine, in a town they couldn’t afford. Derry was the closest, so she’d sacrifice a 45 minute commute every day for a house that was $5,000 cheaper.

Valerie Patterson grumbles and draws her hand away from the thread of her sweater, eyes drifting out the window. Everyone is staring. She hates staring. She hates being looked at. She hates this town. She hates this car.

She hates her name.

Tyler Patterson hates a lot of things. He hates that every time he tries to talk to his mother about who he _really_ is, he chokes. He hates his voice, soft and gentle and _girly_. He hates the long lashes that constantly fall out and stick to his cheeks. He hates the curve of his hips and the slimness of his shoulders. He wants to be big and strong and broad, not small and weak and dainty.

The car turns into the driveway of a small, one story house. The pale blue paint is chipped all over, and a shutter hangs loose on the front window. The grass is yellow, though it is far too early for it to be dead. The place is a shithole. Tyler snorts. His mother glares at him tiredly.

“It’s all we can afford, Val,” she states simply. Tyler cringes inwardly, wanting nothing more than to correct her.

He keeps his mouth shut.

The engine cuts off with a relieved noise as his mother turns the key, and she sighs right along with it. Tyler doesn’t want to get out of the car. The moving van pulls in beside them. A beat of silence. His mother is staring at him, and he’s staring straight ahead, into the empty, dusty windows of his new Hell. His grandfather knocks on his window.

“Earth to Valerie? Oh, come on, kiddo, it ain’t that bad,” he jokes. Tyler squeezes his eyes shut, and pushes the car door open. _Yes_ , he thinks, _it is that bad._

He doesn’t want to start his senior year at a new school in a new state. A small town, nonetheless, where everyone knows everyone and there’s no way he won’t be the center of attention. Especially considering they’re from Georgia, their southern accent sharp and obvious in contrast to the New England drawl of Maine. Already, people are standing out on their porches to see the new family moving in. Tyler _hates_ it. A group of teens pass by on bikes, all staring at him and whispering. He ducks his head. One of them wolf-whistles.

He runs inside as fast as he can.

His mother calls for him as he speedwalks to the house, but he doesn’t stop. She sighs, and walks in after him. Tyler has made himself completely invisible, in a corner of the kitchen where no one can see him through the windows. Felicity comes around the corner, giving him a look of exasperation.

“Valerie, what is the matter with you? There are boxes to unload, come on,” she scolds sharply, grabbing his wrist. He flinches, but lets himself be dragged back outside. The kids on the bikes are still there. He keeps his head down, face flushing red, and grabs what he can from the car. The kids start to approach, and Tyler rushes back inside.

From the front hallway, he hears one of the kids talking to his mother. He sounds sweet, but his words are interrupted by a stutter. He can almost see the fake smile on his mother’s face.

“H-Hello, wel-welc-welcome to the n-ne-eighborhood!” the boy greets happily.

“Oh, thank you dear!” Felicity responds, sugar-coated venom on her tongue. _Didn’t this kid’s mother tell him not to talk to strangers?_ “I’m Felicity Patterson, and this is my father, Harry, and my daughter, Valerie— Val? Where did she go?”

“I think she went inside,” another voice says, its tone quiet and calculated. Felicity mutters under her breath, and Tyler is sure it’s along the lines of _so rude._

“Valerie! Come out here, there are some kids about your age!” she calls.

He can hear the aggression in the way she says his name, and he hopes the kids don’t. He sighs, stares at the ceiling, asking _God, why_ , and then makes his way through the front door. All eyes are on him, and he wants to melt into a puddle and soak into the dirt.

“Say hello, Valerie,” his mother bites out. The glare she gives him makes him flinch back, as he mutters a soft _hello_.

The kids all greet him at once, and then the air falls silent and tense. One of the kids breaks the silence, as if he’s been doing it his whole life.

“Mic check, one, two, is this thing on? I thought this was an intro sequence, come on people!”

Tyler looks up, and then up some more— a tall, gangly teenager with pale skin and large, thick glasses stands with a goofy grin in a horrendously bright Hawaiian shirt. Tyler is blinking at him. Everyone is still silent. A boy with curly, blonde hair, puts his palm to his face.

“Tough crowd,” the tall kid asks. He’s winking at Tyler now, making the dark red blush on his cheeks spread to his ears. _He’s only doing it because he thinks you’re a girl_ , a nagging voice in his head reminds him. He cringes. The kid keeps talking.

“I guess I’ll start, then— Richie Tozier, at your service, madame,” he introduces with a bow and a goofy grin. Tyler sniffles, feeling tears well up in his eyes. _No, God, please, don’t cry, you fucking pussy, don’t do it_ —

Everyone seems to notice, all of them becoming concerned, but confused; Richie barely said _anything_. Felicity looks over at her daughter strangely. Richie looks panicked.

“Valerie, what’s the matter with you?” she asks insensitively.

“I’m fine, I’m— I’m sorry, I’m okay, I’m sorry,” Tyler breathes out. Before the rest of them can say anything, he turns and sprints inside.

Richie, once again, breaks the silence outside. “Shi— _Shoot_ , I didn’t even try to be annoying that time,” he jokes awkwardly. Felicity sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Sorry about that, kids. She’s— She’s a bit, uh… distraught, about the move.” All of them shake their heads.

“That’s alright, Miss Patterson,” a small, brunet boy says gently. He knows how it feels to be anxious around new people— after all, he’d argued that they shouldn’t greet the new neighbors, but no one listened. _Now look what happened,_ he thinks bitterly.

“Right, well. We’ve got lots of unpacking to do. Nice to meet you,” she dismisses, turning her back on them.

They exchange incredulous looks, but they hop back on their bikes nonetheless. Tyler watches from the front door with red-rimmed eyes as they pedal off into the sunset, laughing and whooping like nothing happened.

Tyler spends the whole night thinking about it.

He lays awake on the mattress of his bed, the frame not yet assembled, and stares out the window. Tears pour from his eyes, but there are no sobs or shakes that follow— just the silent flow of warm saltwater. He daydreams about a better time, a time where he could say _oh, actually, I’m a boy_ , and no one would blink an eye. Where he could wear boy clothes, and everyone would call him Tyler. Where people would be just as disgusted by his birth name as he is.

He doesn’t think that time will ever come.

 

School starts in a week. Tyler dreads it more than anything in the whole world. He thinks about all the things he hates about school as he shoves his hands in his pockets, kicking a small rock down the street. His mother had told him to get some groceries, as if neither her nor her father were capable of getting into their _car_ to go. They’d insisted that he needed to get out and get some air, explore the town. He wasn’t really eager to get to know this place; as soon as he turned 18, he was getting as far away from here as possible. But, when his mother turned her cold eyes on him, he knew he had no choice. He took the money from her and dashed out the door.

The wind ruffles his long, dark hair, pushing strands into his mouth. He hates having long hair. Sometimes he thinks about taking the kitchen scissors and chopping it all off. His mother would kill him if he did. Slender fingers gently pull a dark red scrunchie off of his wrist, and card through his hair, tying it up. Tyler gives a forlorn sigh. _This will have to do._

When he looks up from tying his hair, he sees a group of teenagers walking toward him— the teens from the other day, he realizes. His eyes widen, and he makes eye contact with the boy with a stutter, before spinning on his heels and speed-walking away. The boy calls after him, jogging to get into step.

“H-Hey, V-Vuh-Valerie!” he greets. “I never g-got to introd-duh-duce myself, I’m B-Buh-Bill.”

Tyler glanced around the group like a deer in headlights, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Nice to meet you, Bill…” he says softly. _My name’s actually Tyler,_ he adds mentally. The rest of Bill’s friends introduce themselves.

Eddie, the small brunet with a fanny pack, clings to the back of Bill’s backpack. Bill is undeterred by this, like it’s a common happenstance. Tyler even watches him loosen the shoulder straps so that Eddie can stand beside him and hold on to them instead of the back of the bag.

Mike, a stocky, tall, dark-skinned boy stands beside Stan, the curly-haired blonde. They’re the perfect contrast, not only because of Stan’s paper white complexion, but because of their clothes and demeanors; Mike’s white t-shirt is dirty, and his posture is slack. When Tyler shakes his hand, dirt rubs off, and he can feel the calluses of manual labor. His opposite, Stan, stands ramrod straight, his blue polo tucked into his khakis, not a wrinkle in sight, a picture of perfection. He does not offer a hand for Tyler to shake. Yet, there is barely any space between Stan and Mike; Stan doesn’t even flinch when their hands brush and a bit of dirt gets on his knuckles. He doesn’t even wipe it off.

Beverly’s fiery curls— cut short, Tyler notices in envy— ruffle in the breeze, her perfect pink lips turned up in a smile, a button nose covered in freckles. They seem more like sunspots than normal freckles, scattered on her shoulders and cheeks and even her forehead. She looks at home in the summer sun, her hand laced with her boyfriend, Ben’s. Ben, with his sandy blond hair and books tucked under his arm, looks at her like she _is_ the sun.

Then there’s Richie.

A garish Hawaiian shirt, a different one than he was wearing when they first met, hangs loosely over an old wife beater, and Tyler watches with warmth in his cheeks as he strips it away. His pale, toned arms glimmer with a light sheen of sweat. He shakes out his unruly, ink black curls, fumbling to tie the short sleeved button up around his hips. His tongue pokes out between his slightly oversized teeth in frustration. Tyler can’t stop watching him. Everyone notices.

Beverly’s gentle smile morphs into a mischievous smirk. Tyler ignores it. She doesn’t say anything, but he knows she wants to. Richie finally gives up and just tosses the shirt over his shoulder, fixing a goofy grin on his face as he jumps back into the conversation.

“So, Valerie— where’re ya headed?” he asks.

Tyler tugs at the end of his ponytail nervously, looking at the buildings next to them instead of at him. The money his mom gave him for the store weighs down the pocket of his jeans. He barely manages to stumble out an answer.

“I’m… um… my mom, she asked me to go to the store…”

“Ooh, what for?” Richie asks, wiggling his eyebrows. Tyler’s own furrow in confusion. He pulls a list from his pocket.

“Um… milk, eggs, bread, toilet paper, toothpaste,” he lists.

The Losers giggle at him. He looks up at them, startled, afraid he’d done something wrong. Richie’s grin grows, a sparkling look in his eyes that has Tyler’s heart fluttering. He folds the list and clings to it, looking around at them in panic. Bill steps forward, smiling at him gently.

“If you w-wuh-wanna hang out with us l-later, we’re going to the q-qu-quar-quarry.”

Tyler tilts his head in confusion. “The… quarry?”

Eddie pipes up from behind Bill, “It’s this big lake surrounded by cliff.”

He gives Tyler the directions to get there, and Tyler agrees to meet them there in a few hours. The group walks off, all waving and calling goodbye. Richie winks at him, and he ducks inside the grocery store as fast as he can.

All he can think of the whole time he’s shopping is Richie’s smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted this to be literally like twice as long but my draft was about to be deleted and i couldn't pump out another 2,000 words so here u go


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